


The Mathematics of Tears

by Valentina_Ivan



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Please Don't Hate Me, Rape, Surprise Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:37:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valentina_Ivan/pseuds/Valentina_Ivan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While investigating a case, Lestrade is assaulted. His friends rally around him for support, Sherlock is out for vengeance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mathematics of Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer- I do not own Sherlock or any of the Characters therein. I'm only a guest in the Sherlockian Playground
> 
> This is the very first fic I have ever published. Therefore, it has not been beta’d, brit-picked, med-checked or any of the other fancy stuff. I don’t live in the UK, so I’m not real familiar with NHS or how it works, some information I found on their website, other stuff I guessed. Please forgive me for any mistakes. Also, I did not mean for this pairing to happen. It just sort of did, and when I realized it was headed that way, I decided to go with it to see what happened. Please don’t hate me. Any feedback or comments are much appreciated however, as this is the first one I’ve posted.

The warehouse was cold, dark, and almost empty; something from a horror movie. It had been abandoned years ago, only a few boxes and some broken wooden pallets were all that remained, casting long shadows, giving the large room a more eerie feel than it normally would.

Lestrade checked the time on his phone again. He had text Sherlock almost forty-five minutes ago, he should be there soon. Lestrade hoped so anyway. This was the first lead he had on a series of horrific murders recently. Someone had abducted and murdered four children in the last five days; he didn’t want there to be a fifth. He had spent almost every second he had working on the case since the first murder, going over evidence, reviewing the case files, studying every aspect of the bodies. He had to find something. He hadn’t even slept in the last three days, only going home long enough for a quick shower and change of clothes before heading back to his office. He didn’t want to miss anything. He hadn’t even been able to eat anything, just thinking about the case turned his stomach.

An anonymous tip had led him to the warehouse. Someone had seen one of the victims in the area shortly before he was killed and someone had been seen entering the warehouse around the time of the last murder. Lestrade shook his head; he didn’t know what he was doing here with no back-up or even a gun. He hadn’t expected there to be anyone there, most tips like that turned out to be nothing, but he decided to check it out anyway. He had text Sherlock to meet him there hoping the consulting detective could find something, anything. He heard footsteps behind him; he turned expecting to see Sherlock.

“It’s about bloody ti-“the inspector cut off before finishing the sentence. The man before him was definitely not Sherlock. He was about the same height as Sherlock, but stockier. He was filthy, wore a knit cap on his head, greasy dark hair sticking out from the under it. His clothes were old, torn, he’d had them for a long time, was more than likely homeless. That’s not what caught Lestrade’s attention first though; it was the look in his eye. Lestrade had seen that look before, and it wasn’t good. It was the look of a madman. Only after that did Lestrade notice the knife.

“Oi, what have we here?” The stranger asked.

“No one, was just out for a walk and must’ve taken a wrong turn,” Lestrade lied, hoping the madman in front of him believed him. It didn’t work.

“Oh, just took a wrong turn into an abandoned warehouse?” The man asked derisively. “What are you doing here?” He took another step toward Lestrade.

“Nothing, honestly. Like I said, just took a wrong turn. I’ll be off now, if you don’t mind,” Lestrade said, starting to turn for the door but not taking his eyes off the knife.

“Oh, no you don’t, you’re not going anywhere yet,” The crazy man took another step toward Lestrade, and still holding the knife in front of him, reached in Lestrade’s jacket pocket, removing his wallet and warrant card. “Detective Inspector G. Lestrade,” The man read off the warrant card.

“It’s not mine,” Lestrade lied.” I found it earlier, was meaning to turn it in.”

The man pulled Lestrade’s driving licence out of his wallet. “Gregory Lestrade- looks like you,” he said eyeing Lestrade. “Never had a copper before.”

The maniac advanced on Lestrade, still holding the knife, reached in the inspector’s pockets and found Lestrade’s handcuffs. With surprising speed, the man grabbed Lestrade’s wrists, cuffing them behind his back, never letting go of the knife.

“Stop, please,” Lestrade begged, “If you know who I am, then you know what will happen if you do anything. If you stop now, I can get you help, no one ever has to know about this.”

“Oh, no one will ever know alright, but I’m not gonna stop,” the crazy man leered as he forced Lestrade against the wall, facing it, pulling his shirt out of his trousers and undoing his belt. “You’re the copper that’s been looking into those murders aren’t you? They were demons, had to be destroyed,” The madman declared.

In seconds he had Lestrade’s trousers and pants around his ankles, had his own trousers open and pulling out his already hard member. Lestrade was shaking with fear, fighting against the cuffs and the man behind him. The cuffs were too tight though and the lunatic was pressed hard against him. Exhaustion had already begun setting in, making him dizzy and weak, he was begging the man to stop, his head was spinning, he didn’t know how much longer he could last, and he could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks. The maniac didn’t seem to ever stop though; he just kept going, thrusting back and forth, harder and harder, faster and faster. The pain was unbearable. His hands were still cuffed and pinned above his head against the wall, he could feel them biting into his wrists, causing them to bleed. His shoulders burned from the strain. He could feel blood coursing down his thighs. His own member was being rammed against the wall with every painful thrust. His final thoughts were that the man seemed to be pulling him away from the wall, to the middle of the room; he was on the ground, before darkness finally set in around him.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock checked his watch; it had been almost a half hour since he had received Lestrade’s text to meet him at the warehouse. He had sent it at a most inopportune time however. Sherlock had been at the critical point in his experiment and couldn’t be bothered to stop just then. He figured he would finish it, then meet the inspector. The warehouse was only 20 minutes from Baker St.

Lestrade didn’t say it in his text, but Sherlock knew this was linked to the series of child murders that had occurred recently. Sherlock had found it maddening that he couldn’t find anything at the crime scenes or on the bodies to tell him who the killer was. He told Lestrade he needed more data and was unable to help until the inspector could provide it. Apparently Lestrade had found something.

Sherlock looked at the kitchen table, still littered with the remnants of his experiment. John was still at the surgery and wouldn’t be back for some time yet, Sherlock would deal with it when he got back, he decided as he pulled on his coat and scarf to meet the inspector.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Sherlock first entered the warehouse, he thought it was empty, he didn’t see anyone, not right away anyway. He had thought Lestrade would meet him outside, but the detective didn’t see him, so he went inside. After allowing his eyes to adjust to the dark, he swept the warehouse, at first not seeing anything, then after a few moments he spotted a figure lying face down on the floor. Sherlock double checked the warehouse to make sure there was no one else there, then approached the figure, as he got closer he could see his pants and trousers were around his ankles, blood on his thighs and legs. Sherlock knelt beside the prone form, reached out to check for a pulse and gasped.

“Lestrade,” he breathed, his own pulse rising. The figure didn’t stir, didn’t move. Sherlock pressed his fingers against the inspector’s neck, his pulse wasn’t as strong as it should be, but it was steady, Sherlock turned him onto his back and placed a hand on his chest, he was breathing. Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, the inspector was still alive, only unconscious.

Sherlock reached for his phone to call 999, but stopped. If he called an ambulance, Scotland Yard would be notified of the assault. If they were, then Lestrade would be taken off the case, he wouldn’t have access to it anymore. No other DI would work with him. He needed just a little more data and he could solve it, he knew he could.

He pulled Lestrade’s pants and trousers back up to his waist, refastened his belt, then took his own long coat off and wrapped the inspector in it also. He wasn’t sure why, he had heard about people doing it, something about shock, Sherlock thought it couldn’t hurt. He pulled the unconscious inspector into his lap and held him for several long moments, trying to decide what to do. Finally he decided the best thing would be to take him back to Baker St.

Carefully he stood and lifted the inspector in his arms, carrying him to the door. It wasn’t easy, but he finally managed to get both of them to the road and hail a cab. The cabbie looked at him apprehensively when Sherlock pushed Lestrade in and crawled in after him, tugging him back into his lap.

“Not feeling well. Needs rest,” Sherlock told the cabbie who shook his head and asked for the address.

“221 B. Baker St”, Sherlock said, then “No, wait need to make another stop first.”

The cab pulled up to a nondescript, newer building, Sherlock felt in Lestrade’s pockets, pulled out his keys.

“Wait here,” Sherlock instructed the cabbie, “I’ll only be a few minutes. He’ll be fine back there” He added, indicating Lestrade, still unconscious in the back seat.

Sherlock made his way to the third floor, and entered Lestrade’s flat, it was small, but orderly. Case files were neatly stacked on the coffee table. Sherlock had to fight the urge to look at them. No, he reminded himself, he had to hurry. He had to get Lestrade back to Baker St.

After locating a paper bag in the kitchen pantry, Sherlock made his way to the bedroom; he pulled several shirts, bottoms, and pants out of the dresser, shoving them in the bag as he went.

He returned to the cab and instructed the driver to Baker St.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock carried Lestrade and the bag up to his flat, immediately taking Lestrade into his bedroom, laying him on the bed and removing his own coat and the older man’s suit jacket. The inspector hadn’t so much as moved since they left the warehouse. He was beginning to grow concerned, but reminded himself that hospital was not an option and John would be home soon, he would be able to look after the inspector better than Sherlock could.

Sherlock had removed Lestrade’s bloodied pants and trousers and placed them into a bag, along with several blood samples he had drawn. He also had several swabs; he was trying to collect any semen samples that he could when he heard John coming up the steps into the flat.

“Sherlock? You home?” John called when he entered.

“In here” Sherlock answered. “Glad you’re here, could use your help with this.” He said without looking up.

                “SHERLOCK!” John cried in astonishment when he entered the bedroom and saw Lestrade laying on his side, unconscious, Sherlock with a swab in his hand, which he placed in an evidence bag before sealing it. “What the bloody HELL are you doing?”

                “Keep your voice down. Don’t want the neighbors to hear what’s going on,” Sherlock said, rising to his feet. He crossed the room and led John out into the kitchen by the elbow.

                “The inspector was assaulted, I’m trying to collect samples for testing,” Sherlock informed him. John eyes were wide with horror, “Oh, yes, I should mention _I_ didn’t do it,” He added seeing the look on John’s face.

                “What happened?” John asked, alarmed.

                “I told you, the inspector was assaulted.”

                John gave Sherlock a weary look.

                “I don’t know who did it. I received a text from the inspector asking me to meet him at a warehouse, said he had more information about the case he’s been working. When I got there, Lestrade was already unconscious and bleeding with his trousers around his ankles. It was obvious what had happened, even Scotland Yard could have worked that out. I found him over two hours ago, and before you ask, no he has not regained consciousness at any point since then.”

                “Christ Sherlock, he needs to be in a hospital, not your bedroom,” John cried, he was horrified by what Sherlock had just told him.

                “He will be fine here, if you will examine him to make sure there are no other injuries. I’m sure this is not something Lestrade wants everyone at the Met finding out.” Sherlock stated flatly.

                “There are procedures, Sherlock,” John sighed. “Not everyone at the Met will find out, only the inspector assigned his case. They’re trained to be discrete about things like this. He will be better off in hospital where there are people who are trained to help victims like him.”

                “He stays here. No hospital. Your medical skills are more than adequate,” Sherlock insisted.

                “Dammit Sherlock, this isn’t a game and it’s not one of your bloody experiments! There is a man lying in there unconscious who’s just been raped. I know you don’t get emotionally involved, but Lestrade is one of the very few friends you have. Why do you not understand that?” John was becoming even angrier at Sherlock’s stubbornness.

                “Because this is my fault!” Sherlock was becoming defensive. John’s expression went from anger to confusion.

                “How? You said you didn’t do that.” John demanded.

                “Of course I didn’t do _that_ , don’t be stupid,” Sherlock said exasperated.

                “Then how is it your fault?”

                “Lestrade text me, asked me to meet him at an abandoned warehouse in connection with a case he’s been working on,” Sherlock started.

                “The child murders?” John asked. Sherlock nodded.

                “I was in the middle of an experiment when I received his text. I was at a critical point and didn’t feel I could stop just then, so I finished then went to meet him, it was about an hour after he text me. Had I gone when I received the text this may not have happened. I decided to wait and because of that, the inspector was attacked. If I had been there this wouldn’t have happened,” Sherlock finished, sounding wearied.

                “There was no way you could have known Sherlock. He didn’t have any backup with him?” John asked quietly. Sherlock shook his head. “Okay. I’ll take a look. If he’s not conscious by morning though, we take him to A&E. Agreed?”

                “Agreed.”

                John went into the other room to retrieve his medical kit, then returned and followed Sherlock into the bedroom. He sat down next to the bed, where Sherlock had been when he first arrived. He moved the blanket that was partially covering the inspector- at least Sherlock had the discretion to halfway cover him. After carefully examining his backside, he determined there were probably no serious injuries, just a lot of inflammation and torn skin. He pulled some disinfectant and a few cotton swabs out of his kit.

                “Sorry Greg, this is going to sting,” John said regretfully to the unconscious man as he cleaned and disinfected the swollen, torn dermis. After that, he pulled Lestrade onto his back so he could examine his front side. His privates were covered in a mass of bruises and swelling.

                “Sherlock, go get a couple ice packs from the freezer and a pillow off the sofa,” John directed. Sherlock nodded silently and swept from the room.

                John looked at Lestrade’s wrists; both had several deep cuts around them, like they had been bound with something.

                “Were his hands tied when you found him?” John asked when Sherlock re-entered the room.

                “No, both were at his sides when I arrived. I would say from looking at the wounds on his wrists however, he had probably been handcuffed. Since his hands were free when I found him, the attacker probably took them with him,” Sherlock reasoned.

                “Oh that’s great. So now there’s a rapist out there somewhere with his own set of handcuffs.” John said disdainfully. He disinfected the cuts and wrapped both wrists with gauze to keep them clean. “Since you seemed to have nicked his trousers, we will have to find something else for him to wear. “

                Sherlock lifted the bag of clothes from Lestrade’s flat, handed it to John, who just shook his head in amazement and pulled fresh clothes out.

                “I’ll need your help,” John said.

                Gently they pulled fresh pants and pajama bottoms onto Lestrade, removed his dress shirt and replaced it with a clean sweatshirt. John took the pillow Sherlock had taken from the sofa and placed it under Lestrade’s buttocks, then had Sherlock help him to place Lestrade on his side. The doctor took one of the ice packs and placed it on the inspector’s privates and the other on his backside, securing them between the waistbands of his pants and bottoms. After he was finished, he pulled the blanket back over him, and then returned to the kitchen with Sherlock.

                “Will he recover?” Sherlock asked.

                “It’s going to take some time. There are no serious physical injuries, that I can tell; just a lot of bruising, swelling and cuts. The emotional scars are what will need time. He’s been severely traumatized; he won’t be able to overcome that very easily. It worries me that he has been unconscious this long. He didn’t stir or even register what was going on the entire time we were in there.”

                “If it matters, he hasn’t slept in days,” Sherlock informed him.

                “Days? Why the hell not?” John asked incredulously.

                “The case he’s been on; didn’t want to miss anything. He was only going home long enough to shower and change his clothes. He hasn’t eaten anything in about the same amount of time. The details turned his stomach and he didn’t have any appetite.”

                “Well, exhaustion and hunger would make him weak, add trauma such as this, his body needs to mend somehow. I can get a better assessment though when he wakes.” John added.

                Sherlock nodded, then pulled his coat on and grabbed the bag that had the samples and Lestrade’s clothes.

                “Well, I’m off to Bart’s. Text me if there’s any change.” Sherlock told John.

                “What? You’re _leaving?_ ” John was staggered, Sherlock had insisted Lestrade stay there, and now he was running off and leaving John to look after the inspector.

                “I can’t just sit here John. I have to do _something;_ whatever I can, to find who did this,” The detective asserted tersely.

                John nodded. He knew Sherlock wasn’t one to just sit by someone’s bedside. He needed action, to be able to do something. He also knew that Sherlock felt responsible for the attack on Lestrade, and at least attempting to find who did it would help ease his guilt.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                John was sitting next to the bed, reading a book, when Lestrade finally stirred. It had been a little over two hours since Sherlock left for Bart’s. John closed his book and moved closer to the bed. Lestrade’s eyes fluttered open and he looked at John.                

                “Well, there you are,” John smiled at him. “Had me rather worried.”

                John knew Lestrade had been traumatized; he wasn’t, however, ready for Lestrade’s reaction to him. As soon as John spoke, Lestrade’s dark brown eyes widened in terror, and he scrambled backwards, pushing the blanket away, trying to get as far away as he could. He fell to the floor, hard, but kept scurrying backwards, till he finally hit the wall, then dragged himself into the corner with his knees pulled to chest, arms wrapped around them, and buried his head. He kept repeating “No, no, no, no.”

                John cautiously walked around the bed, over to Lestrade. He could see the older man shaking as he knelt beside him.

                “Greg, it’s alright. You are safe now. No one is going to hurt you. You have been through an unspeakable trauma, but you are safe now. Do you know where you are?” John asked.

                Lestrade slowly looked up, nodded. “Baker St.” He mumbled.

                “That’s right. You’re at Baker St. and no one is going to hurt you. You are perfectly safe here.” John reassured him. “Do you recognize me?”

                “John,” Lestrade murmured softly. John smiled at him.

                “Greg, you know I would never hurt you. I just want you to be safe and help you get better. You fell off the bed pretty hard, it probably hurt. Can I take a look?” John asked cautiously. Lestrade shook his head, pulled himself tighter into the corner. “Okay, that’s fine, it’s up to you. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to. Do you want to get back into bed? It’s probably more comfortable than the floor.”

                Lestrade hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and started to get up.

                “Let me help you,” John said, reaching out his hand. After a moment of reluctance, Lestrade took John’s hand and allowed him to help him up. John placed his other hand on Lestrade’s back, the inspector tensed at the touch.

                “It’s okay, it’s just my hand. It’s only there to help guide you, nothing else,” John assured him. He helped him get back into bed, making sure the pillow was still under him, he explained it was there to help reduce some of the pressure on his backside. He had removed the ice packs some time before Lestrade woke, not wanting to leave them too long. He wanted to check the wounded areas again; the swelling had begun to go down, but not entirely and he could have damaged it further when he fell. He knew couldn’t with the current state Lestrade was in though, he would have to wait.

                “I’m going to get you some water, ok? Stay here, I’ll be back in just a moment.” John told him, Lestrade nodded.

                When John got to the kitchen he sent Sherlock a text, letting him know Lestrade was finally awake. He pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water before returning to the bedroom. Lestrade was still in bed, but had pulled his knees up to his chest again.

                “Here you go, it’s just water.” John handed the glass to Lestrade; he took several small sips before handing it back to John, who set it on the nightstand.

“Is that better?” He asked. Lestrade nodded. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Lestrade shook his head forcefully, pulling his knees closer to his chest, he started shaking again. John sat down on the bed next to him and placed a hesitant hand on Lestrade’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, Greg, you don’t have to talk about it yet,” John consoled him, he began rubbing his shoulder gently.

Lestrade was still shaking, John knew he was taking a chance but he had to calm the older man somehow, so he moved closer and wrapped his arms around Lestrade, pulling him into his embrace. After faltering for a moment, Lestrade leaned into the doctor and wrapped his arms around him. He then began to sob. John rubbed his back with one hand and stroked his silver hair with the other.

“Shhhh, it’s okay.” John whispered soothingly. ”You’re safe.” Lestrade continued to weep into John’s shoulder.

Finally, Lestrade pulled away, leaning back against the bed as John let go. The doctor pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Lestrade to wipe his eyes. John gently stroked his arm and reached for the water glass on the nightstand; he offered it to Lestrade, who took a few sips before handing it back.

“I’m sorry, shouldn’t have done that,” Lestrade sniffed quietly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for Greg, not after what you have been through.” John told him. “I only want to help you, ok?” Lestrade nodded.

John slowly reached for his kit, taking a small bottle out, he shook two pills into his hand.

“I’m sure you are in a lot of pain right now, these will help,” John offered the pills to Lestrade; he looked at the doctor skeptically. “They’re just painkillers.” The doctor told him gently. After a moment, Lestrade accepted the pills, swallowing them with the water that was left in the glass.

“Try to rest, alright?” John patted Lestrade’s shoulder gently and stood up from the bed.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Sherlock arrived at St Bart’s just as Molly was heading for the door. He grabbed her arm and pulled her aside.

                “I need your help,” He told her.

                “Well, I’m just on my way to meet a friend,” Molly started.

                “You’ll need to reschedule, I need you here,” Sherlock informed her. He removed the vials of blood from the bag, “I need you to test these for any STD you can think of.”

                “If this is an experiment, can’t it wait?” Molly asked.

                “No it can’t. You’re the only person I know I can trust with this.”

                “Sherlock, what’s happened?”

                “Inspector Lestrade was assaulted earlier today.”

                Molly’s expression went from concern to horror when she realized what had happened.

                “You mean he was assaulted _sexually_?”

                Sherlock nodded grimly.

                “Ok, give me the samples, I’ll see what I can do,” She sighed.

                Sherlock handed her the samples of Lestrade’s blood to begin testing them. He withdrew the swabs to attempt to extract any semen he could. He did the same thing with Lestrade’s pants. They both worked silently, knowing how important it was and not wanting to lose focus.

                After some time, Sherlock finally had enough semen to extract DNA from. He placed it in an evidence bag and sealed it. He pulled out his mobile, sent a text to Donavan, asking her to meet him at Bart’s, it was an emergency.

                The blood tests Molly was running would take some time to complete. Sherlock checked on her progress, informed her he would return later for the results and swept out of the room.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Donovan was waiting for Sherlock in the lobby.

                “Well Freak, here I am. What’s the big emergency?” She asked, almost mockingly.

                “I need the DNA extracted from this and run through every databank you have to find a match,” Sherlock told her, holding up the semen sample.

                “We’re not your personal crime lab, Freak. We can’t just test something because you say so,” Donovan said irritably.

                “It’s for Inspector Lestrade,” Sherlock was growing annoyed.

                “The inspector has gone home for a rest, I’m sure he can take care of it when he comes in,” Sally told him.

                “The inspector’s not at home, he’s at Baker St, and this isn’t for one of his cases, it’s _for him._ ”

                “What do you mean for him?” Donovan was becoming confused. “Why is he at your flat instead of his own?”

                “Lestrade was assaulted, I collected that sample from him hoping to get enough semen to test the DNA and find a match,” Sherlock explained with a sigh.

                “Assaulted…You mean he was _raped_?” Donovan was mortified as she finally comprehended what Sherlock was telling her.

                “Yes, finally you understand. Have that tested quietly. No one else at the Yard can find out about this.”

                “I have to file a report. How is he? Is he alright? What happened?” Sally started rapid-firing questions, her concern for her boss growing more into fear.

                “He was in an abandoned warehouse, thought it was somehow connected to the child killer case. He text me and asked me to meet him there, when I arrived he was already unconscious. I decided the best thing to do would be to take him back to Baker St, collect what evidence I could and have John examine him. “

                “Did John find anything? Has he woken up?”

                “No, there are no serious injuries that he can tell, only a lot of bruising and swelling. He was still unconscious when I left. John is with him. “Sherlock’s phone beeped at that moment. “Text from John, ‘Lestrade’s awake, but scared and confused’.” Sherlock read the message to Sally.

                “I’ll need to get a statement from him, file a report,” Donovan told Sherlock.

                “No. This has to remain unofficial. “Sherlock insisted. “No reports.”

                “You may operate outside the law, but I can’t,” Donovan argued. “I have to follow procedure.”

                “Think for moment. Lestrade went into that warehouse alone, unarmed, without backup. He didn’t even tell anyone he was going there. If an investigation is opened, then Lestrade will be pulled from the case, every piece of evidence he collected will be questioned. He will have to go through several evaluations, possibly being placed on leave for an extended period of time. Both of us know he won’t want that. I came to you because I know you care enough for him I can trust you not to report this.” Sherlock contended.

                Sally started to say something, then relented. Instead, she just nodded and reached for the samples Sherlock was holding.

                “I’ll get these to the lab, see what they can do. “ She said finally, fighting back tears. “But I’m in on whatever investigation you’re doing. You don’t keep anything from me. Understood?”

                Sherlock groaned and rolled his eyes, then finally,” Yes, I understand.”

                “Good. “

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Donovan and Sherlock dropped the samples to the crime lab to have the DNA tested; Donovan calling in multiple favors in order to keep it out of any report and make it a top priority.

                “Ok, now what?” She asked Sherlock as they left.

                “We go to the warehouse,” The detective answered.

                “Ok. Why?”

                “Because that’s where this happened. It is also somehow involved in the killings. I need to be there, to see it.” Sherlock answered. “The crimes are connected somehow, I know they are. I just need to prove it.”

                “You mean, since the inspector was there about the child killer, looking for evidence, and was assaulted there, it could be by the same person? Or someone who knows who the killer is?” Donovan posed.        

                “Right. Just have to find what connects them, and we will find both a killer and a rapist.”

                Sherlock and Donovan entered the warehouse silently, both sweeping it to make sure there was no on there. They met in the middle of the room. Donovan notice blood on the floor not far from where she was standing.

                “Could this belong to one of the victims, you think?” She asked Sherlock, walking over to it.

                “No, it’s Lestrade’s. That’s where I found him earlier.”

                Donavan’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped. There was quite a bit of blood there. Something about seeing her boss’s blood on the floor, even though she knew he was alive and safe, made her stomach turn. She turned away from it, pointed her torch along a wall, looking for anything, finding nothing.

                “Sally,” Sherlock called. She made her a way over to wear he was standing, across the room. He was holding a small pink ribbon. “Didn’t one of the victims have her hair tied in ribbons?” He asked her.

                Sally thought for a moment, “Yes, the second victim, Hailey Snow. Her mother said she had pigtails with two pink ribbons. Only one was found with the body though. It was assumed it fell out.”

                “So we know at least one of the victims was here,” Sherlock turned around. “What about the others? Were they here as well?”

                Sherlock and Donovan continued searching the warehouse. Sherlock found a small room off along one wall that partially hidden behind a stack of boxes, he froze upon entering. Donovan noticed Sherlock standing in the door and walked over. Her blood ran cold when she saw what was in the room.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Lestrade had fallen asleep again when the painkillers kicked in. John knew he would be asleep for some time. He used that time to check Lestrade’s injuries; he was worried about the inspector’s fall from the bed earlier, afraid he may have caused more damage. The doctor was relieved to find that no more injuries had occurred as a result of the fall, and almost all the swelling on his backside had gone down. His genitals were still rather swollen however, so John retrieved another ice pack from the freezer. He had plenty of ice packs; Sherlock almost always did something that would require an ice pack at some point during the day, for either of them.

                John sat down next to the bed again; he looked at Lestrade and sighed. He wished he could do more to help him. Hopefully Sherlock was making progress at Bart’s. He hadn’t been ready for Lestrade’s reaction upon first waking up; he knew the inspector would be scared, possibly confused, but it was like he didn’t even _recognize_ John at first.

                Lestrade started muttering, his legs began twitching as he slept. John gently stroked his hair, “Shh, it’s okay,”    He soothed “It’s just a dream. Go back to sleep.” Lestrade quieted.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Sherlock noticed when he entered the room were the pictures; pictures of children playing, laughing, covering the walls. Horns had been drawn on, along with tails and some had split tongues. There were pictures of all four victims that appeared to be taken after death.   There were pictures of other children too, all had been drawn into some form of demon. The middle of the floor was covered in candles; they had been out for some time. If the pictures of the children weren’t horrific enough, what Sherlock noticed next was worse. He motioned Donovan over, who cried out in shock, Lestrade’s handcuffs-splattered with blood- along with his warrant card, and a picture of Lestrade unconscious on the floor, _after he was raped,_ also hung from the wall.

“Well, there’s your connection Fre- Sherlock,” Donovan said to Sherlock. “I’ll call and have someone posted,” She reached for her mobile, Sherlock stopped her.

“We have to wait.” He said. “If you call in it now, the Yard will know of the attack on Lestrade. He won’t be back for a while yet. It’s better to wait, see what Molly or your crime lab has found first.”

Donovan hesitated then nodded. “Ok. I need to speak with Lestrade though, get a statement from him.”

Sherlock shot her look. “Not an official one, not yet anyway. Look, you have your ways of investigating and I have mine. The best way for me to do this is speak to the victim. Hear his words with my own ears.” She explained. Sherlock nodded in understanding.

                John greeted Donovan and Sherlock with surprise when they returned to Baker St.

                “Thought you didn’t want to involve the police?” John whispered to Sherlock when they entered the kitchen.

                “I didn’t. I needed help though. I can’t access the DNA database from Bart’s, so I asked Sgt. Donovan for help, she insisted on tagging along while I investigated.” Sherlock explained. Donovan shot him a look. He ignored it. “Need to ask Lestrade some questions. “ He headed for the bedroom.

                “He’s sleeping, Sherlock,” John told him.

                “Your text said he was awake.”

                “That was over two hours ago. He woke up very scared, confused and in a lot of pain. I gave him some painkillers and he fell back asleep. That was an hour ago. I don’t think he’ll be waking up again anytime soon.”

                “Can I still see him?” Donovan asked. “I’m not going to bother him; I just want to see him for myself to make sure he’s alright.”

                John nodded and led her to the bedroom. She inhaled sharply at the sight of her DI. He was sound asleep, lying on his side, almost as white as a sheet. She walked over, ran her fingers gently through his silver hair. She was anguished seeing him like this. She was used to Lestrade being strong, smart, capable, not like this; not so fragile and vulnerable. She was glad John was looking after him though. She knew she could trust him. Sherlock was another matter.           

                After a few moments, she turned to John, her cheeks stained with silent tears. “Fre-Sherlock, says you don’t think there are any serious injuries, just bruising and swelling. He will be alright then?” She asked, trying not to sound hopeful.

                “It’s hard to say. Like I said before, when he woke up earlier, he was confused and completely terrified. The physical wounds will heal. The emotional ones, well those will take some time. “John told her honestly.

                “Well, better go see what Sherlock has found,” She said heading for the door, John grasped her arm.

                “The loo’s in there if you want to freshen up first,” He said indicating the door next to Sherlock’s bedroom. She nodded thankfully and opened the door.

                John returned to the kitchen where Sherlock was standing, leaning against the counter. “Donovan went to freshen up,” He informed Sherlock. The detective nodded.

                Sally joined them in the kitchen a few minutes later, her eyes were still red.

                “Molly called while you were with Lestrade; said she has something.” Sherlock told her as he pulled his coat back on. Donovan hesitated. She clearly didn’t want to leave Lestrade, but she also wanted to know what Molly had found. John seemed to notice her hesitation.

                “I will let you know when he wakes again,” he promised. That seemed good enough for Sally, so she grabbed her coat and purse and joined Sherlock.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                Molly was bent over a microscope when Sherlock and Sally entered the room. She looked up briefly when they entered.

                “I got the results of the blood tests back, “Molly started, both looked at her anxiously. “They all tested negative for any sign of STD. However he will need to be tested again in about six weeks.” Donovan felt a sigh of relief escape her. At least, as far as they know the sick person that did this was didn’t transfer anything to Lestrade.

                “You could have told me that on the phone. Why did we need to come down here Molly?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

                “Look in the microscope.” She told him. “After you left, I noticed you left the inspector’s clothes behind. There wasn’t much semen left, but I decided to take a look at what was there, see if I could find anything.”

                “What did you find?” Donovan asked, peering over Sherlock’s shoulder.

                “Take a look,” Sherlock said, moving so Donovan could look.

                “What am I looking for? Oh, wait. These don’t look right. They’re like misshapen.” Sally was puzzled. She didn’t know what that would mean about the case.

                “Right,” Molly nodded.” Notice how the head is more round than oval?” Donovan nodded. “It’s caused by certain drug interactions.”

                “So we’re looking for an addict, then?”

                “There’s only one type of drug that would cause that type of morphological change, Risperidone. It’s used to treat-”

                “Schizophrenia.” Donovan finished for her. Molly nodded.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                After Sherlock and Donovan left, John returned to the bedroom to check on Lestrade. He was still asleep. John pulled the blanket back and removed the ice pack he had placed there earlier. He was glad that most of the swelling had gone down.

                John was placing the ice packs back into the freezer when he heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.

                “Oh, I thought I heard voices in here a moment ago. Was coming up to see if anyone would like a nice cuppa.” She told John when she entered the flat.

                “Sgt. Donovan and Sherlock just left. They are working on a case, only stopped here for a moment.” John explained.

                “Oh, why aren’t you with him?” Mrs. Hudson enquired innocently.

                “I’ve got some things to work on here, Mrs. Hudson. Why don’t you go back to your flat, and I’ll call if I need anything.” John was trying to get Mrs. Hudson to the door when he heard Lestrade in the other room.

                “Is that the inspector in there?” She asked. “I thought I saw Sherlock bringing him upstairs earlier. What’s happened to him?”

                “He’s not feeling well, had a bit of a fright. Please, I need to be with him right now,” John said and hurried into the bedroom.

                “No, no, please, no.” Lestrade kept muttering while thrashing on the bed and pulling at the blankets. He was covered in sweat.           

                “Greg, wake up,” John shook him gently.” Wake up, Greg. You’re having a nightmare.”                

                Lestrade’s eyes opened, he looked at John, for a moment John thought he was going to scurry off the bed again. But he just looked at him and whispered “It seemed so real.”

                John patted his shoulder, “I know. You’re safe though. Just relax. It was only a dream.”

                Mrs. Hudson peeked into the room, “Everything alright dear?”

                John led Mrs. Hudson back out of the room, “He’s fine, just had a bad dream.”

                “Oh, I see. Why don’t I fix him a nice cuppa? That always helps whenever I have bad dreams.” Mrs. Hudson offered.

                “That is very kind you Mrs. Hudson, thank you.”

                Mrs. Hudson scurried back downstairs as John re-entered the bedroom.

                “Can you tell me what the dream was about?” He asked the inspector, his face lined with concern.

                “I was in the warehouse; he had me pinned to the wall. I was begging him to stop. He wouldn’t though. He wouldn’t stop, it just kept going and going and….” Lestrade trailed off; tears were brimming his eyes.

                John nodded sympathetically and took Lestrade’s hand, gently stroking the back of it, silently urging him to continue. Lestrade started, then stopped again, tears began flowing down his cheeks.

                Mrs. Hudson returned with the tea, John met her in the kitchen and carried the tray into the bedroom, so Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t know the inspector was crying.

                “Here, drink. It’ll help.” John handed the steaming mug to Lestrade.

                Lestrade blew across the top of the hot liquid a couple times before taking a sip. John waited, sitting next to the bed, until Lestrade was ready to talk again.

                “You must think I’m a proper wuss,” Lestrade finally said as he wiped the tears off his cheeks. “I’m probably the weakest member of Scotland Yard. How many other DI’s do you see crying into their tea?”

                “No Greg. Don’t do that to yourself. You have been through a serious trauma. That doesn’t mean you are weak or a wuss. Now, drink your tea; it will help, I promise.”

                While Lestrade sipped his tea, John went into the kitchen and text Sherlock.

                                **“Lestrade’s awake and talking, but scared.”**

**\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

Sherlock and Donovan were leaving Bart’s when they received John’s text. Donovan had called the crime lab; results still weren’t in on the sample she had left. They decided to return to Baker St. to talk to Lestrade.

                When they arrived both immediately went into the bedroom, followed by John. Lestrade seemed surprised to see Sherlock and Donovan arrive together. Sally sat down next to the bed, with John and Sherlock behind her. She smiled compassionately at Lestrade.

                “Sir, I know this is hard, but can you tell us what happened?” She asked gently.

                Lestrade closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then nodded.

                “Was at the warehouse checking out a tip, hoping to find something about the murders; a man entered, I didn’t recognize him. He had a knife. It was so fast. I tried to fight, but he was strong, he took my handcuffs, cuffed me. I couldn’t move my arms. He pushed me against the wall, took my trousers down-“Lestrade stopped, closed his eyes again.

                “It’s alright, sir. Take your time. Just tell us what you can.” She took the inspector’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

                Lestrade nodded and opened his eyes again. He paused for a moment before continuing.

                “He took my trousers down, I felt him inside me. I begged him to stop, he wouldn’t, he just kept going. I passed out, next thing I knew I was here and John was next to me.” He looked up, John smiled.

                “You’re doing great, sir. Is there anything else you remember? What he looked like? Something he may have said?”

                “He was dirty, had greasy hair, think he was homeless. Said he recognized me. That I was the one investigating the child murders.” He paused then “He said they were demons, he had to destroy them.” Lestrade whispered quietly.

                Sally and Sherlock exchanged a look. Sherlock was right. The killer and rapist were one in the same. Now they just had to find him.

                “You did wonderful, sir. This will help us tremendously.” Sally squeezed his hand again.

                “You and Sherlock are working _together_?” Lestrade asked, incredulously.

                “We both realized we want what’s best for you, and the best way to do that is to team up,” Donovan said simply. Lestrade looked at Sherlock, the detective just shrugged.

                “The inspector needs his rest, so I’m going to have to ask you two to leave the room now,” John stepped in. He could see how much it was taking out of Lestrade. Sally nodded and stood; she headed for the door, looking at Sherlock to follow.

                “I need a moment with Lestrade. I’ll be out in a few,” He told John and Sally.

                “Make it quick Sherlock, he needs to rest,” John told him warningly as he walked out.

                “I will,” Sherlock promised. He took the chair Sally had been sitting in. “Lestrade, you needed me today and I failed you. I deeply apologize for that, please, forgive me.” Sherlock almost sounded like he was pleading. His blue eyes locked with Lestrade’s brown.

                “There’s nothing to forgive. Even you couldn’t have known this was going to happen. I shouldn’t have gone in there alone. The only person to blame is myself,” Lestrade told him.

                “No, the person to blame is the man that did this to you. We will find him.” Sherlock vowed.

                “I need to be out there with you, not in this bed. I appreciate what all of you have done, but this is my case. I need to be the one investigating.” Lestrade started trying to get out of bed.

                “No you don’t Lestrade. You stay here and rest like John told you. Donovan and I will handle the rest.”

                Lestrade shook his head and climbed out of the bed. He swayed when he stood up. Sherlock grabbed his shoulder to steady him, placed a hand on Lestrade’s chest.

                “Stay in bed. We are already working the investigation. You did your part. You gave us a description and led us to the warehouse.” Sherlock told him, surprisingly kindly, gently pushing him back onto the bed.

                “Sherlock, this is my case, I need to be the one investigating. I can’t stay here, lying in bed while you do my job for me.” Lestrade insisted, trying to stand again.

                “I always do your job for you,” Sherlock said sardonically. Lestrade gave Sherlock a look, the detective sighed. “I know you want to find your attacker and the killer, but until today, you hadn’t slept or eaten in days, you’re living off cigarettes and coffee, and now you’ve been assaulted. If this was any other member of your team, would you let them continue to investigate?”

                Lestrade started to reply, then shook his head. As much as he hated admitting it, he knew Sherlock was right. There was no way he would let any member of his team continue an investigation after an attack. He also realized when he tried to stand, how difficult it was, and how much it hurt. It really hurt. The painkillers John had given him must have been wearing off.

                Sherlock helped Lestrade lay back down on the bed, covering him again with the blanket. Lestrade was surprised at how gentle Sherlock was. He had never seen that side of him.

                “I need to go,” Sherlock told him. “Have more to do.”

                “You will come back right?” Lestrade asked hopefully.

                “I live here. I have to come back.” Sherlock said simply. Then, seeing the look on Lestrade’s face added, “We will keep you informed of anything we find.”

                “Thank you,” Lestrade said quietly. Sherlock nodded and swept from the room.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                “Now where to?” Donovan asked Sherlock as they left Baker St.

                “Need to make an investment,” Sherlock told her as he hailed a cab.

                After getting in, they drove for several blocks, until Sherlock suddenly told the driver,” Stop here,” and jumped out of the cab. Sally tried to follow but Sherlock stopped her.

                “I told you, you can’t keep anything from me, I have to be a part of this,” Donovan told him, frustrated.

                “I’ll explain in a moment, but right now, I need you to stay here. Get back in the cab and stay out of sight.” Sherlock said curtly.

                They locked eyes for several long seconds; finally Donovan nodded and got back in the cab. Sherlock returned a few moments later and directed the driver to the crime lab.

                “Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Donovan asked.

                “Homeless network, my eyes and ears throughout London, “Sherlock told her.

                “And I had to stay back because-“

                “Because they will know you’re a police officer and could get spooked. They can provide vital information for us, but we have to be careful,” Sherlock explained.

                “Did you get any useful information?”

                “Not yet.”

                “Then why did we stop?”

                “That’s not how this works. I pass on who I’m looking for; they ask around and will contact me later when they have more information.”

                Sally sighed and shook her head. Using the homeless as informants was pretty brilliant, she thought.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

                John entered the bedroom carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and some bread. He put it down in front of Lestrade.

                “You need to eat something, Greg.” He told the inspector, sitting down next to him. “You haven’t eaten in several days from what I understand. You can’t keep going on coffee and cigarettes alone.”

                “Haven’t had an appetite,” Lestrade told him.

                “Your body needs sustenance if you’re going to get better. Please? Eat a little bit anyway,” John implored.

                Lestrade tried to take a bite, but his hands began shaking so bad, the soup just spilled onto the tray. He flung the spoon down in frustration.

                “It’s alright,” John reassured him, placing a hand on the inspector’s arm. “Just take a deep breath and relax.”

                Lestrade closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as John had directed him. He tried to take another bite, this time he successfully made it to his mouth.

                John stayed with him while he ate, decided it best not to talk about the assault, so he told him about some of the patients he saw that day.

                Soon they were both laughing and chatting. John telling him some of the more outrageous patients he had. Lestrade was finally beginning to relax and his color was coming back. John was glad Lestrade was finally more at ease. He also managed to eat almost all the soup and bread John had brought in for him. After Lestrade had finished, John collected the tray and dishes and returned them to the kitchen. When he returned to the bedroom, he found Lestrade attempting to get up.

                “Why are out of bed?” John asked him. “You still need to rest. “

                “I uh, need to use the loo.” Lestrade told him, slightly embarrassed.

                “Ok, let me help you.” John put his arm around Lestrade’s waist and pulled the older man’s arm over his shoulders. Lestrade winced with every step. John led him to the bathroom and waited outside the door for him.

                Lestrade noticed the bruises on his member for the first time while he was peeing. He knew it hurt, he just didn’t realize it was that badly bruised. Seeing it brought back memories of the attack; he felt like he back in the warehouse, being slammed against the wall while the maniac thrusted inside him. It was so real, he suddenly felt nauseous, trapped, he couldn’t breathe. He sat down on the floor, trying to calm himself. He pitched forward and retched into the toilet. He leaned back against the wall, he felt paralyzed, he couldn’t move. Tears began streaming down his cheeks. He heard John calling his name, asking if he was alright. Lestrade tried to answer, but couldn’t.

                John became concerned when Lestrade didn’t answer him, he had been in there for a long time. Finally, John opened the door, he found Lestrade, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, tears flowing freely. He had vomit around the corners of his mouth. John knelt beside him, placed a hand on Lestrade’s shoulder.

                “What happened, Greg?” He asked gently.

                “I thought I was getting better, was feeling better. When I came in here, I-I-saw th-the bruises. It ca-came back. It was so real. I felt trapped, I couldn’t breathe, all I could think about was be-being in th-that warehouse with hi-him.” Lestrade sobbed.

                “It’s alright. You’re here now and you’re safe. I should have warned you about the bruising.” John began to gently rub Lestrade’s shoulder.

John continued to massage Lestrade’s shoulder for several moments. He finally stood, got a damp washcloth, and knelt down to wipe the vomit from the inspector’s mouth.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” John reached out his hand. Lestrade took it and stood up carefully. They slowly made it back to the bed, Lestrade moving more stiffly and more painfully than before. John helped him lie down, and gave him a couple more painkillers, the ones he gave him earlier had apparently worn off long ago, but Lestrade didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” Lestrade whispered. “You have been so kind, helping me; I keep making a mess of it.”

“Stop apologizing Greg. You don’t need to be sorry. I’m your friend and I care about you. I’m also a doctor, so let me look after you.” John caressed Lestrade’s arm gently.

“This is all my fault though. I shouldn’t have gone in there alone. I just wanted to find something, anything that could lead me to the killer. I wasn’t thinking, I was so tired; I just wanted to find something so I could finally make an arrest and close the case. I was so stupid though. Didn’t think I needed any backup. I could have had him too. He was right there, I just wasn’t fast enough. I was too tired to think straight. Instead I end up being attacked, and we’re still no closer than we were before. I’ve made a mess of everything. Sherlock’s right. I’m an idiot.” Tears continued to roll down Lestrade’s cheeks.

“It’s not your fault Greg. None of it is. You were doing your job. You’re a detective inspector, this is what you do. You’re not an idiot and you’re not stupid, please don’t say that you are. This is a difficult case and you have been working around the clock trying to solve it. There was no way you could have known this would happen. Stop blaming yourself, you did nothing wrong.” John reassured him as he continued massaging Lestrade’s arm.

“What if he kills again though? I didn’t arrest him, I could have, he was right there, but I didn’t. I let him get the better of me. Now he may have another victim, some other innocent child, and it will be because of me; because I wasn’t strong enough to fight back. I let him cuff me, get inside me. I should just resign. I’m rubbish as a DI. I have to have Sherlock solve my cases for me, including this one. Maybe I just shouldn’t do it anymore,” Lestrade was sobbing again.

“No Greg. You’re an excellent DI. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t. What that man did to you is not in any way your fault. He could have killed you and if he does claim another victim it’s on him, not you. Please stop beating yourself up.” John stopped rubbing Lestrade’s arm, took his handkerchief out of his pocket again and wiped the tears from Lestrade’s eyes and cheeks.

“I’m just so tired,” Lestrade whispered. “Tired of everything.”

“I know you are. Try to get some sleep. I’ll stay right here next to you, ok?”

Lestrade nodded and closed his eyes. He was asleep again in minutes. John sat beside him, watching him sleep. He could feel tears start to form in his own eyes. He had never heard Lestrade talk like that before. He hated thinking that the inspector blamed himself for the attack, he hoped his assurances helped. Lestrade was an excellent DI, even if Sherlock constantly contradicted the matter.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One of the techs greeted Sherlock and Donovan as soon as they entered.

“This just came through. Finally got a match on that sample you gave us,” The tech informed them. “Name is Joseph Clayton. He was born in Blackpool, have no current address for him though. Have him in the system for an assault a few years back.”

“Is there anything else you have on him?” Donovan asked. The tech shook his head. “There’s no employment info or anything?”

“Not that we can find.” The tech shrugged.

“It’s not much but at least we have a name. Thank you,” Donovan told the tech.

“We should check the shelters, see if anyone there knows him,” Donovan said as they were leaving.

“I was thinking the same thing. Should check in with the homeless network first though; they’re more willing to give information than the shelters.”

Donovan was almost dumbfounded; Sherlock actually was thinking the same as her.

“Since we now have a name, we may have a better chance of getting useful information,” he continued.

They made another stop for Sherlock to pass the name of the killer on to his homeless network, again Donovan waited in the cab. She didn’t argue this time. She knew Sherlock was right and seeing her may spook his informants.

After that they stopped at The Yard, Sally got the case file from Lestrade’s office, they decided to head back to Baker St. to go over what information they had.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John was changing the bandages on a sleeping Lestrade’s wrists when they arrived. He finished and joined them in the sitting room. Sherlock was standing on the sofa pinning pictures and case information to the wall.

“How is he?” Sally asked, her voice edged with concern.

“Well, he appeared to be doing better. He did eat something, but he also had a panic attack. He blames himself; wants to quit the Met.” John told them.

Sally and Sherlock both froze. They both knew he was scared, would take some time to recover, but neither of them thought it would cause him to want to _quit._

“Why?” Sherlock demanded, climbing down from the couch.

“He thinks if the killer claims another victim it will be his fault. Doesn’t think he can cut it as a DI anymore; thinks he _allowed_ the assault to happen because he didn’t fight back hard enough.” John explained.

“That’s simply not true.” Sherlock said. “Lestrade is the best the Met has.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Sherlock’s right.” Donovan agreed. “I’ve worked with several DIs and Lestrade is the finest one there. “

What can we do to help him?” Sherlock asked, turning to John.

“He needs a lot of support; to be reminded that this was not his fault, he is still a great DI.” John told him. “It also wouldn’t hurt to catch the person that did this.” He added. “Wanna fill me in on what you have so far?”

“The man who attacked Lestrade is the same person who killed those children.” Donovan started. “We have a name, Joseph Clayton; crime lab matched his DNA, that’s all they had though.” She paused, turned to Sherlock. “That’s pretty strange, come to think of it. If his DNA is in the system for an assault, then there should be other details, he would have been arrested if his DNA was logged, so why is there nothing on file?”

“We know he has Schizophrenia, Molly found an abnormality in the semen that pointed to Risperidone.” Sherlock added.

“Well if he’s been prescribed Risperidone and is homeless, he would have to be getting it from a clinic.” John offered. “There are only a few clinics in the area that deal with that, I can make some calls, see if I can find which one.”

Sherlock looked at him, expecting him to make the call right then. John looked at his watch and shook his head. It was after 2 am. The clinics were closed.

“Did your homeless network know anything?” John asked.

“Not yet. Probably won’t hear from them until tomorrow. Just gave them the name an hour ago. We did find something in the warehouse though, there was a small room off in a corner, could barely see it. Apparently this Joseph Clayton had been using it as some sort of shrine. Had pictures of the victims, other children; was really strange. He had drawn on them to make them appear to be some sort of demons.” he continued.

“Well, Lestrade did say when he was attacked the assailant told him the victims were demons that needed to be destroyed.” John remembered. “Sounds like he’s a disorganized Schizophrenic, and somehow it has manifested itself to make him believe children are demons.”

“That doesn’t explain the attack on Lestrade though,” Sherlock pointed out. “How does a person go from killing children because he believes they are demons to raping a 50 year old man?”

“Clayton would be the only person that would know the connection there. “ Donovan jumped in. “But I’d say he probably gets off on it. Since we know he assaulted someone else, he probably gets a different sense of gratification from rape.”

“How do you mean?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, since he said they were demons that needed destroyed, he sees that as a calling, a duty. He thinks he’s protecting the public by killing them. The rape is different though. Since we know he has taken Risperidone, which affects his sperm, he may have been on other medications before that caused other adverse effects.” Donovan explained.

“Like impotency?” John offered. Donovan nodded.

“So the only way he can get an erection is to force someone else?” Sherlock added. He looked at Donavan, surprised at her insight into Clayton.

“I worked a case similar to this when I first joined the Met,” She explained. “Spent a lot of time talking to behavioral psychologists; picked up a few things.” She added sheepishly.

Before Sherlock or John could reply, they heard Lestrade from the bedroom; he was apparently having a nightmare.

“Better go check on him.” John said and headed to the bedroom.

Sherlock and Donovan exchanged a look, but decided to let John take care of Lestrade, they turned back to the case.

Sally sat down on the sofa, turning so she could still see the information pinned to the wall. She was afraid to ask why there was a bright yellow smiley face with bullet holes in it on the same wall.

They continued to discuss the case; Sally stifled a yawn, hoping Sherlock didn’t see it. He did.

“Do you need to stop?” He asked. “I can keep going, fill you in tomorrow if you want to go home.” He offered. Donovan shook her head, she wanted to keep going. “Ok, if you’re sure.” Sally nodded, another yawn escaped before she could stop it. “I’ll go put the kettle on, anyway,” Sherlock offered. He didn’t wait for a reply, before heading to the kitchen.

After he started the kettle, he looked in on John and Lestrade. The inspector was still on his side; John was sitting on the bed behind him, rubbing his back. He signaled for Sherlock to be quiet, didn’t want Lestrade to wake up again. Sherlock nodded and retreated silently from the room.

He returned to the kitchen, collecting the kettle, mugs and a box of tea, he set them on a tray and carried them into the sitting room. When he entered he found Donovan had fallen asleep on the sofa, her head on the arm. He found a pillow and gently placed it under her head, carefully lifting her legs onto the sofa, then covered her with a blanket.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, going over the case when John returned to the room about 30 minutes later. He started to say something when Sherlock motioned for him to be quiet, indicating Donavan, asleep on the sofa. He stood and joined John in the kitchen so they wouldn’t wake her either.

“I need to get some sleep. “ John told Sherlock, “Mrs. Hudson brought her folding guest bed up, so I can stay with Lestrade. “ Seeing the look on Sherlock’s face he added, “She doesn’t know about the assault, only that he’s not feeling well.”

Sherlock nodded, “Is he doing any better?”

“Well, he hasn’t had another panic attack, but he’s still having nightmares. That’s why I want to stay with him tonight. Don’t want him to wake up alone if he has another. I gave him a pretty strong sedative, so he shouldn’t wake up, but just in case. Take my bed when you get tired,” He added.

Sherlock nodded, went back to the sitting room while John went back into the bedroom for the night.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sally woke the next morning to the sounds of John and Sherlock in kitchen. After taking a couple of moments to wake up, she stood and groggily entered the kitchen.

“Good morning, Sergeant, did you sleep well?” Sherlock asked. She wasn’t awake enough to figure out if he was being serious or not.

“How about some coffee?” John offered, pouring some into a mug and pressing it into her hand. She nodded gratefully and took a sip.

“How’s Lestrade?” She asked after she had sipped her coffee for a few minutes and was more awake.

“Well, I gave him a pretty strong sedative last night, after he had the last nightmare. He slept quite peacefully after that. He’s still not awake yet.” John added.

Sally looked at her watch, it was just after 8 am. They needed to get started; it was going to be a long day.

Sherlock appeared to be thinking the same thing. Turning to her, “I need to take a shower; you probably want to go home to change, so why don’t we meet at the Met in an hour?” He offered.

“Sounds good; will give me time to call in, let them know I will be out most of the day and Lestrade is out sick.”

John was stunned. He never thought he would see this kind of cooperation between Sherlock and Donavan. Both appeared to notice his shock, but neither said anything. Sherlock headed for the shower and Sally collected her things and, after looking in on Lestrade, headed to her own flat.

Sherlock emerged from the bathroom 20 minutes later, fully dressed and toweling his hair. He sat down in his chair to put his shoes on when John walked in.

“So, you and Donavan-“He started.

“Are working a case,” Sherlock finished simply. He patted his pockets for a moment and looked around, picked up his mobile, shoved it in his pocket.

“There’s more than that, Sherlock,” John prodded.

“No, we both want to find Clayton and help Lestrade.”

“Sherlock, the way you are together, the way _you_ are with her. You don’t even like each other. The two of you do nothing but bicker and argue every time you work together. Now, not only are you working a case together, you’re _being nice_ to her.”

“Oh, nonsense John, we are simply working together to help Lestrade.”

“Really? Last night when I came in, after she had fallen asleep, you came into the other room to talk to me.”

“Didn’t want to wake her.”

“When have you ever cared about waking someone? You plod around here at 4 in the morning with that bloody violin, not caring if you woke half of London.”

“I doubt my violin would wake half of London. The sound wouldn’t even carry to the end of Baker St.” Sherlock pulled his coat on, “I need to be off. Call if anything changes, or if Lestrade remembers anything else.”

With that, Sherlock turned and was gone. John was left standing in the sitting room, shaking his head in wonder.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John re-entered the bedroom just as Lestrade began to rouse. John sat beside him, not wanting to startle him. Lestrade blinked his eyes a few times, finally focusing on John.

“How do you feel?” John asked, smiling.

“Tired, sore,” Lestrade mumbled. “Feel like I’ve been run over about 12 times. Were Sherlock and Donovan here?” He asked.

“Yeah, Donovan left about an hour ago, wanted to go home and change, Sherlock left about 30 minutes later, was meeting her at the Met.”

“Funny, thinking of those two working together,” Lestrade chuckled.

“You have no idea,” John shook his head. “Think you could eat some breakfast?” he asked Lestrade. Before he could answer, the inspector’s stomach gave a loud rumble. “Well, that answers that, I’ll be right back,” John smiled and left the room.

John returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with a bowl of cereal, toast and coffee. While Lestrade ate, John went back to the kitchen to call the surgery, let them know he wouldn’t be in that day. Then he called the clinics in the area, see if he could find the one Clayton was receiving his medication from. After calling 6 different locations that had never heard of Clayton, he was finally successful with the seventh. After ringing off, he phoned Sherlock to fill him in on what the nurse told him.

He went to check in on Lestrade after he was finished. The inspector was finishing his coffee when John entered. He was satisfied that Lestrade ate most of it. John collected the tray and returned them to the kitchen, then re-joined Lestrade in the bedroom.

“Think it would be possible for me to take a shower at some point?” Lestrade asked when John re-entered the room.

“Of course, if you’re feeling up to it.” John answered.

“Definitely” Lestrade said. “Just wish I had something to change into. Come to think of it, how did I end up in these? This isn’t what I had on yesterday.”

John reached down and produced the bag that Sherlock had brought from Lestrade’s flat.

“Sherlock got these from your flat yesterday. Don’t ask me. The man can’t remember to put the milk away or not to leave body parts on the counters, but he thinks to stop by your flat to get fresh clothes for you before bringing you here.” John chuckled shaking his head.

“Do I want to know what happened to the clothes I had on yesterday?” Lestrade asked.

“Well, I’ve put your shirt and jacket in the laundry to clean. Sherlock nicked your trousers and pants though. He took them to Bart’s to test for semen or other DNA samples.” John explained, seeing the look on Lestrade’s face. John decided not to inform Lestrade that Sherlock had collected several samples directly from the inspector also; at least, not yet anyway.

John helped Lestrade into the bathroom and got him a towel. He told Lestrade to let him know when he was finished, John would wait in the other room for him.

 ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donovan met Sherlock at the Yard just as he was exiting the cab.

“Ok, everyone here thinks Lestrade is out with the flu. What now?” She asked.

“Haven’t heard from my homeless network yet, so we check the local shelters, see if anyone knows him. John is calling the clinics in the area; see if Clayton was getting his medications from any of them.”

Donovan and Sherlock checked every shelter they could think of with no luck. No one had heard of Clayton. It occurred to Sherlock that Clayton may be going by a different name, but he didn’t know what that was or any way to find out. They were about to give up when John called.

“Sherlock, I found the clinic Clayton was receiving his medication from. It’s a NHS clinic on Union Rd.in Clapham. Nurse I spoke to said Clayton came regularly for about a year, and then just stopped about six months ago. He hasn’t been in and they can’t seem locate him.” John told him.

After ringing off, Sherlock turned to Donavan. “John found the clinic, on Union Rd. in Clapham. Apparently Clayton hasn’t been in for six months, the staff can’t locate him.”

“So he hasn’t been taking his medication for six months, no wonder he had a psychotic break.” Donovan shook her head. “If he’s been off it that long, it will only get worse, he could begin escalating soon. We need to find him.”

Sherlock looked at Donavan; he was becoming impressed with her psychological knowledge.

They checked in with Sherlock’s homeless network, Clayton was last seen at Vauxhall Arches. They decided to check it out, see if he was there.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John was growing concerned. Lestrade had been in the shower for almost 30 minutes; John could hear the water running. He called to Lestrade, asked if he was alright, got no answer. He waited, called out again, still got no response.

John opened the door, found Lestrade sitting on the floor of the bathtub, vomit was on the side of the bathtub and covering Lestrade. He still had shampoo in his hair, he was sobbing, rocking back and forth; his bare back hitting the wall of the bathtub. He looked up when John entered.

“Greg, what’s wrong?” John asked softly, kneeling beside the tub.

“I don’t know,” Lestrade shook his head. “I just couldn’t help thinking about being in that warehouse, against that wall. Why does this keep happening?” He looked at John with pleading eyes, wanting to understand what was happening to him.

“You’re having panic attacks, Greg,” John told him. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and into some warm clothes,” John grasped Lestrade’s upper arm and pulled him up. He helped him rinse the shampoo out of his hair and clean the vomit off his face, chest and abdomen. John rinsed the vomit that was on the side of the tub also.

“Sorry, just couldn’t make it to the toilet this time. “ Lestrade said apologetically.

“It’s alright Greg, we can clean it up. Come on, let’s get you dried off,” John turned off the water, it was already running cold. He helped Lestrade out of the tub and dry off, then into some dry clothes.

John guided Lestrade back to the bedroom and back into bed. Tears were still flowing down Lestrade’s cheeks. John sat beside him, wiped his tears away.

“Shhh, it’s alright, you’re fine; just relax,” John consoled him. “Are you still in pain?” He asked after several minutes.

Lestrade tensed but didn’t answer.

“Greg, you need to tell me if you’re feeling any pain, ok? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” John advised him. Lestrade nodded. "Okay, good. How bad is the pain? Scale of 1-10, 10 being the highest.”

“About an 8, “Lestrade finally said.

“That’s good, Greg. Now, can you tell me where?”

“My arse and my back,” Lestrade answered after a few seconds.

“Good, now did it hurt before you got into the shower, or after you got out?”

“After-“Lestrade started, then paused.

“Greg, what happened when you were in the shower?”

“I was-was in there and I couldn’t stop thinking about being in that warehouse, with him, I couldn’t breathe, I was dizzy, nauseous, tried to make it out of the shower, but couldn’t. I-I fell, retched over side. I couldn’t move. I felt trapped. Why does this keep happening? I can’t use the loo or take a shower without flipping out. What is wrong with me?” He started sobbing harder.

“There’s nothing wrong with you Greg. You’re having panic attacks; becoming overwhelmed with the memories of what happened. It’s perfectly normal. They will stop eventually.” John took Lestrade’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “If you fell though, I need to examine you. Make sure you don’t have any other injuries. I know you don’t want to, but if you’ve injured yourself further I need to know now, so I can treat them and you can get better. “

Lestrade started to recoil, not wanting John to examine him, but he finally relented. He knew John was right, and it was better to get it over with. He turned slowly onto his side so John could look at him.

John carefully examined him, and was relieved that there was nothing serious. He appeared to have only pulled a muscle in his back. It was easy enough to treat.

John retreated to the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water. He aided Lestrade in sitting up, gave him the water, along with a couple painkillers and muscle relaxers. Then had Lestrade lay back on his side, he sat down behind him and began rubbing his back, just as he had the night before. Lestrade was asleep in a matter of minutes. John stayed with him, rubbing his back for another 15 minutes. Then got his kit and replaced the soaking wet bandages on the inspector’s wrists with fresh, dry ones.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and Donovan didn’t find much at Vauxhall Arches, Clayton had been there, and was using the name John Constantine. He had left several days before and no one had seen him since. They were told however that he also went to a local church frequently; they may be able to find him there.

They decided to stop by Baker St first though. Check on Lestrade.

John was just finishing replacing Lestrade’s bandages when Donovan and Sherlock arrived.

“He’s still not awake?” Donovan asked with concern when John joined them in the sitting room.

“He was. Even managed to eat breakfast and take a shower.” John told her.

“So what happened?”

“He had another panic attack while he was in the shower, caused him to fall.”

“Is he alright?” Sherlock asked.

“Well, he bruised his tailbone and pulled a muscle in his back. It could have been worse. I gave him a couple painkillers and muscle relaxers. He’ll probably be asleep for a while.”

“Why did he have another panic attack?” Sherlock asked.

“He’s probably developing a form of PTSD. Panic attacks are a common symptom. He becomes overwhelmed with memories from the attack, starts having flashbacks, they seem real to him, cause him to have a panic attack.” Donovan explained. Turning to John, she said, “I’d still like to see him though. I promise I won’t wake him.”

John nodded and started to lead her back to the bedroom, Sherlock stopped him. “I’ll go with her,” he followed Donovan into the bedroom and stood behind her as she sat beside the sleeping DI.

“We’re close, sir,” She whispered, stroking his hair. “We’ll catch him, I promise.” Tears began to slide down her cheeks, she hated seeing him like this. A handkerchief appeared at her shoulder. She looked up gratefully at Sherlock as she accepted it and wiped her eyes. They stayed for a few more minutes; Donovan continued to gently stroke her boss’s hair. She felt Sherlock give her shoulder a light squeeze.

John was waiting in the kitchen when Sherlock and Donovan came out of the bedroom. Donavan’s cheeks were stained with tears, she was still holding Sherlock’s handkerchief. John was more surprised to see the way Sherlock was with her. He had his arm around her shoulder, gently guiding her. Sherlock never did anything gently. John was dumbstruck; he decided not to say anything though.

“So have you found anything?” John asked instead.

“Well, apparently he’s been sleeping rough, Vauxhall Arches; hasn’t been there in a few days though. Also, he’s been going by the name John Constantine,” Sherlock told him. “He’s been known to go to a church, we’ll check there next. Should also check out local comic book shops as well.” He added.

“Comics? Why?” John was confused.

“Because John Constantine was a character in an American comic in the late 80s,” Donovan realized.

“He sees himself as a demon hunter and adopted the name of one of the most well-known. “ Sherlock added.

“Why would he do that?” John asked.

“He’s delusional. He believes he has been given a duty to remove what he perceives as demons, probably thinks he actually _is_ John Constantine. He was probably a fan of comic books as a child and that became the manifestation for his delusions when he got older.” Donovan explained.

“We need to get going, got a lot to do,” Sherlock said, pulling his coat on. “Call us if anything happens.”

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock and Donovan decided to check with the comics book shops before going to the church. They didn’t find much there either. Clayton had been to a couple of them, but not recently. None of them knew where he would be either.

“Should probably head to the church,” Donovan said as they left the last shop. Sherlock grabbed her shoulder to stop her.

“How do you know so much about this?” He asked; he couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.

“I told you, a case I had when I first joined the Met.” Sherlock gave her a look, he didn’t believe her. “Fine, my mum was a psychologist.” Sherlock still didn’t believe that was all. Donovan sighed. “Catherine Dickenson was my mum.”

“The criminal psychologist?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes. I don’t like telling people about it. I get all sorts of weird questions. She kept her maiden name, so no one knows we’re related. No one at the Met knows. Please, keep it that way?” She pleaded. Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Donovan felt her stomach grumbling, she looked at her watch, it was lunchtime, she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the day before.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Mind if we stop for some lunch?” She asked Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t want to stop, he wanted to keep investigating, but after working with John, he knew most people liked to eat more than once a day. He nodded and they found a small sandwich shop a few blocks from the church.

“Do you ever eat?” Donovan asked after they had ordered. She had gotten a salad and sandwich, Sherlock only asked for water.

“Not while I’m on case. Digesting slows my thinking process.” He told her. She just shook her head.

They talked about the case some more, what they had so far. After a while, the food came. They sat in silence for a few moments, while Donovan ate her lunch and Sherlock busied himself with his phone.

“So your mum…” Sherlock began, after a while.

“Was a brilliant psychologist.” Donovan finished for him. He locked eyes with her for several seconds; finally she relented, put her sandwich down.

“She worked with the Met a lot. She was leaving one day, was attacked.” She said simply. Sherlock looked at her. “He stabbed her 13 times. She was dead by the time the police arrived. I was in my second year at university, studying psychology. I wanted to be just like her. After she died, I decided to join the Met.”

“Did they find who did it?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Yeah, few days later; guy was psychopath, a complete nutter. When they asked him why he did it, he said it was because he was bored.”

“I had no idea.” Sherlock told her. He was shocked by what she had just told him, that didn’t happen to him very often. It did explain some of the hostility she held toward him however.

“So what about you?” She asked.

“What about me? Neither of my parents were murdered.”

“No, what’s your interest in the Met? Why do you do this?”

“Lestrade asked me to.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Besides that. I mean, why did you start working with him to begin with?”

“Lestrade helped me with some problems I had a few years back.”

“The drugs bust.”

Sherlock nodded. “I was in it pretty bad; Lestrade arrested me on a possessions charge. I solved 3 of his cases while he was filing the report. We reached an agreement, I would try to stay clean and he would let me in on his cases.”

“What made you start doing them to begin with?”

“An escape, a distraction. Get away from my life. I didn’t have a lot of friends growing up, wasn’t real close with my parents, Mycroft is more of an acquaintance than a brother. If I was high, I could escape that.” He explained. “Lestrade was the first one to seem to care.”

“I’m sure you’re parents cared.”

“My mother did, not sure my father did. He wanted his boys to grow up to be footballers, when I showed more interest in chemistry and academics, I think he was disappointed. We don’t talk that often.” He shrugged, check the time. “We should be going.”

Donovan nodded, finished the last of her sandwich while Sherlock paid the bill and followed him out the door.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John had been trying to catch up on some paperwork when he heard Lestrade. He went into the bedroom to check on him. He was muttering in his sleep again, his legs twitching.

“It’s alright,” John said, rubbing his arm gently. Lestrade stilled. He stayed with him for a while longer, eventually Lestrade’s eyes fluttered open.

“How are you feeling?” John asked.

“I’ve been better,” Lestrade mumbled. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Couple of hours. Sherlock and Donovan were here, they have a lead.” John told him.

“I should be out there with them,” Lestrade said quietly.

“No, you should be here resting. Sherlock and Donovan have it under control. You need to rest and concentrate on getting better so you _can_ get back out there. “

Lestrade shook his head. “I was serious yesterday when I said I thought I should leave the Met. I don’t think I can do it anymore. I’m not the young, eager copper I used to be.”

“No, now you’re a veteran detective inspector, who has solved dozens of cases and put loads of criminals in prison.” John responded. “You’ve got years of experience, you are one of the best at interrogating suspects, and at being empathetic when dealing with victims and their families. You are the finest the Met has to offer. London is much safer with you on the force. “

Lestrade shook his head. “I can’t even keep myself safe anymore.”

“Greg, stop thinking like that. You are the best there is. Why do you think Sherlock will only work with you?”

“I’m the only there willing to tolerate him.”

“And because he knows how good you are. “ John patted his arm and sighed, he wasn’t sure what else to do to convince Lestrade. He hated hearing him talk that way, but wasn’t sure what else to do to reassure him.

“If I’m so good, why did I let myself get raped?” Lestrade asked, tears forming in his eyes again. This was the first time Lestrade had verbally acknowledged what had happened.

“You didn’t _let_ it happen Greg. He had a weapon and attacked you. If you had fought back he could have killed you. You survived, and you will get through this.” John promised.

“It would have been better if he had killed me.” Lestrade said softy.

“Don’t say that Greg, _do not_ say that.” John told him firmly.

“Why? It’s true. I’d be better off dead than lying here feeling ashamed, letting someone else take care of me like an invalid. I can’t go sleep without having nightmares; I can’t use the loo without flipping out. It would have better if he had just killed me, instead of having to live with what he did.” The tears began sliding down his cheeks.” I can’t even stop crying. I’m 50 years old, and keep wailing like an infant.”

“No, Greg, that’s not true, you know it’s not. You’re not an invalid, and you will get past the nightmares and panic attacks, but it will take time. You have been violated in an absolutely horrific way. It’s going to take some time to work through it, but you will.” John assured him.

“I should go back to my own flat; I’ve taken enough of your time. It’s probably better if I’m alone anyway. No one wants to look after a sobbing invalid.” Lestrade wiped tears from his eyes and started to get up. John placed a hand firmly on his chest to stop him.

“Greg, you will stay right here. You’re not taking up my time and you’re not an invalid. You don’t have to go through this alone. You have Sherlock, Donovan and I to help you. We’re you’re friends, we care about you and want you to get better. If you want to be alone for a while, that’s fine. I can go in the other room if you want, but you need to stay here, at least for a few days.” John patted him on the shoulder.

“Would you mind? I just want to be by myself.” Lestrade told him.

“Okay. I’ll be in the other room if you need me. I’ll leave the door open, so if you do, just yell. I’ll come back in a little bit to check on you.”

“Thanks,” Lestrade managed a small smile as John got up and left the room.

John went back to the paperwork he had been working on, felt tears sliding down his own cheeks as he did.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Donovan and Sherlock had arrived at the church and were speaking with a priest when Sherlock excused himself to take a phone call.

“He has been here, usually comes for mass, but stays towards the back. Some of our parishioners have mentioned seeing him and that he makes them uncomfortable because of his appearance, but God’s church accepts everyone.” The priest told Donavan.

“When was the last time he was here?” She asked.

He thought for a moment, then said “Last Sunday morning. I remember seeing him just after the services ended. I haven’t seen him since.”

“How does he usually act when he’s here?”

“He’s pretty quiet, keeps to himself. I never thought he would harm anyone, just seemed to have fallen on hard times.”

“Do you expect him back anytime soon?”

“Well, like I said, he usually comes to the services, we’ll be holding the next one tonight at 7, and he will probably be here for it.”

Sherlock walked back over at that point. Donovan thanked the priest and she and Sherlock headed for the exit.

“You were right,” Sherlock said as they walked out the door.

“About what?” Donovan asked.

“Clayton’s file. He had been arrested for an assault charge, but there was never an official report. His name and DNA were logged, but the rest of it was kept quiet.”

“Why?”

“Seems his last victim was an MP, the details are limited, but it appears Clayton surprised him and assaulted him before he could defend himself. Because of whom it was, Home Office did the investigation, Clayton was caught, arrested, and sent to mental hospital.” Sherlock said.

“How did you get that information?” Donovan asked.

“Home Office.” Sherlock said simply. Donovan shook her head, she didn’t want to know. “Got the name of the hospital, we should probably speak to someone there; find out why he’s back on the streets. What did you find out from the priest?”

“He said Clayton usually comes for services, he seemed harmless, though several church-goers were uncomfortable because of his appearance. Said he kept to himself, stayed in the back. The next service is tonight at 7, he expects Clayton will be there.”

“Then so will we.” Sherlock told her, Donovan nodded in agreement.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John finished his paperwork, decided to check on Lestrade. It had been a little over an hour since John had left him. Lestrade’s words were still playing John’s mind. He hated to think that not only did Lestrade not think he was a good DI, but that he thought he was better off dead. He hoped that Lestrade had thought over what he had told him.

“Greg? Are you awake?” John asked, knocking lightly on the open door as he entered.

“Yeah, I’m awake.” Lestrade answered hoarsely. He was still lying in bed and his eyes were red and puffy. He had been crying.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, sitting down beside him.

“Like a complete arse.” Lestrade sounded completely despondent. “I’m sorry about earlier, I shouldn’t have gone off like that. I know you’re just trying to help and I do appreciate it. I just feel so helpless. "

“I know, it’s alright. “ John gently patted Lestrade’s shoulder. “Think you can eat something?” he asked.

Lestrade was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll try.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” John got up and headed into the kitchen. At least Lestrade wasn’t still insisting he should be dead, John thought.

John came back a few moments later, carrying a tray with another bowl of soup and bread. Since Lestrade hadn’t been able to keep the last 2 meals he had eaten down due to the panic attacks, John didn’t want to risk giving him anything else.    

“Thanks, “Lestrade said picking up the spoon, stirring the soup around for a bit before taking a bite.

John started to walk out, Lestrade stopped him. “Please stay. I don’t want you to leave.”

“Okay,” John said and sat down beside the bed. “Sorry, haven’t been to the shops lately, usually don’t have a lot space in the fridge anyway, with all Sherlock’s blasted experiments.” John shook his head.

Lestrade chuckled and shook his head, “I can only imagine.”

“You know he had a head in there once? An actual human head.”

“You can’t be serious. Do I want to know where it came from?”

“Bart’s, of course. I swear I’m going give Molly Hooper a list of approved body parts that Sherlock’s allowed to bring home.” John laughed and Lestrade laughed with him, it was good to see him brighten up. Hopefully things would start getting better.

They chatted for a while, started talking about football, how their teams were doing.

“You know, Arsenal is playing Chelsea tonight. We should watch it if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Definitely,” Lestrade told him.

“Good, it will be nice to watch a match with someone who knows what’s going on and isn’t constantly complaining about how _boring_ it is.” John laughed.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hospital Clayton had been in was in Bromley. Sherlock and Donovan approached the desk and asked for information on Clayton.

“What is this regarding?” The woman behind the desk asked.

“We have some questions about a patient.” Donovan told her.

“I’m sorry, but all of patient information is confidential.”

Donovan showed the woman her badge, “This is a police matter. The man we are looking for is wanted for a series of murders.”

“Then you will need a warrant to get any information.” The woman said curtly.

“Does your employer know you are playing online poker while you’re working?” Sherlock asked her.

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about. Now, if you don’t have a warrant, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Not doing well at it today are you? Down a couple hundred pounds? It would be a shame if your board knew you were using hospital funds to pay your gambling debts when it doesn’t go well. “

The woman gaped at Sherlock for a moment, then called someone to come out and meet them.

“The doctor will be out shortly.” She told them.

“How did you know that?” Donovan asked as they stood in the reception area.

“She had it on the screen when we walked in, I saw the reflection. “

“How did you know she was using hospital funds though?”

“Lucky guess,” Sherlock grinned; Donovan shook her head, trying to hide her smile. Before she could say anything, a slight, balding man around 60 came in.

“I’m Dr. Hawkins, I here you have some questions about one of our patients.” He extended his hand to both of them.

“We do, I’m Sgt. Donovan and this Mr. Holmes, our consultant. We need to ask you about Joseph Clayton.”

“I’m sorry Sergeant, but I’m sure my receptionist has already told you, we cannot disclose information about our patients without a warrant. “ He told her apologetically.

“I can get a warrant, Doctor. If I do though, then I’m bringing all of Scotland Yard with me, and we will take this hospital apart piece by piece, room by room until we find what we are looking for. Your patients will all be questioned and searched, their rooms completely dismantled. You’re a doctor, you know what will happen to your patients if you allow that to happen. I also don’t think your board of directors would be too happy finding out that not only is the hospital being investigated by Scotland Yard, but that you let a dangerous schizophrenic out on the streets.” Donavan’s eye narrowed, “Now, is that what you want to happen, or will you answer our questions about Joseph Clayton?”

Sherlock looked at Donovan with surprise and a little bit of awe. He had never heard her threaten someone like that.

Hawkins removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, then “Okay, what would you like to know?” He sighed, putting his glasses back on.

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The rest of the afternoon went pretty well. Lestrade didn’t have any more panic attacks, and he kept his lunch down. They spent most of the time laughing and chatting, John was glad Lestrade was finally doing better.

They decided to order a takeaway before the match. John helped Lestrade into the sitting room, he was still moving slow, but didn’t seem as stiff. Lestrade carefully lowered himself onto the sofa, with the pillow John insisted they bring out, under him. John noticed the older man wince as he sat, but didn’t say anything.

Their takeaway arrived just before the match started. They ate as they were watching. It turned out to be a close game, with Sanchez barely getting a goal past Courtois for a 3-2 win for Arsenal. Both men were cheering and laughing. Lestrade seeming to have almost forgotten his injuries, until he jumped off the sofa at the last goal, the muscle in his back sending shooting pains; he sat back down more carefully, John looking at him with concern.

“You alright? Is your back still hurting?” The doctor’s face was creased with concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just need to remember not to do that for a while,” Lestrade gave him a wry grin.

After the match, John got up to clear the takeaway containers, taking them into the kitchen. After John went into the kitchen, Lestrade noticed the case file sitting on the desk next to the sofa. John had taken the pictures and file information off the wall earlier that day, so Lestrade wouldn’t see it. The inspector picked it up and began leafing through it. Most of it was information he had put in there, victim’s names, their ages, what evidence had been logged. Then he saw what Sherlock and Donovan had added. Pictures from the warehouse, results of the DNA test from the crime lab, the mutation of the assailant’s sperm, along with the picture that had been taken of Lestrade at the warehouse after the assault. He started having another panic attack.

John called to him from the kitchen, asking if he wanted coffee, Lestrade didn’t answer. John stuck his head around the corner. Lestrade was shaking, his eyes wide with terror, sweat pouring down his face, tears in his eyes.

“Greg, what is it?” John rushed to his side.

Lestrade tried to speak but couldn’t. He just pointed to the file; the picture was still lying on top of it.

“H-h-he to-took my pi-picture.” Lestrade finally got out. He began hyperventilating. John wrapped his hand around the inspector’s wrist, his pulse was racing. John ran into the kitchen and grabbed a small paper bag from the pantry; he brought it in and handed in to Lestrade.

“Here, breathe into this,” John told him. As Lestrade did, John gently rubbed the inspector’s back. After about a minute, John tenderly pulled the bag away, encouraging Lestrade to take slow, deep breaths. This continued for about 10 minutes, John pulling the bag away every couple of minutes, having Lestrade take several slow, deep breaths then putting the bag back over his face. Finally, the inspector’s breathing slowed to almost normal, his pulse slowed as well. John wrapped his arm around Lestrade’s shoulder, gently massaging his arm, Lestrade’s head on John’s chest.

“Shhh, it’s alright. “ John soothed. “Everything’s fine, just relax and breathe.” Tears continued to flow from Lestrade’s eyes.

Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway, “Everything alright up here? I heard a commotion. Oh!” She said at the sight of them, her hand going to her mouth.

John felt Lestrade’s pulse go up again when he saw her. “It’s okay, it’s just Mrs. Hudson,” He told the inspector. Turning to his landlady he said, “We’re fine. The inspector had a bit of a shock, but it’s alright now.” John gently squeezed Lestrade’s shoulder.

“Why don’t I make him a nice cuppa? Maybe it’ll help calm him down. “She offered. John nodded and she disappeared back downstairs.

John continued rubbing the older man’s arm and shoulder, wanting to keep him calm. Mrs. Hudson brought the tea up a few minutes later, placing it on the table in the sitting room. John helped Lestrade sit up as Mrs. Hudson handed him the steaming mug. He mumbled a thank you, and took a small sip.

Mrs. Hudson motioned for John to follow her into the kitchen. He did, standing near the door so he could still see Lestrade.

“Are you sure he’s alright?” She asked, concern etched in her matured face.

“He’s fine Mrs. Hudson, like I said, he just had a bit of a shock.”

“Are you sure? Seems there’s something else going on. Does Sherlock know?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock is out investigating a case with Sgt. Donavan; both are aware of the inspector’s condition.” John almost kicked himself as soon as the word condition came out.

“What condition? John, what is going on?” She insisted. “Is the inspector sick?”

“No, he’s not sick, bad choice of words.” John let out a long sigh. “The inspector was attacked yesterday. “ He said finally.

“Oh, what do you mean attacked? He doesn’t look like he has been.” She said, peering at Lestrade, who was still sipping his tea.

“Not that kind of attack.”

“What do you-? Oh, you mean someone-?” She asked in horror, finally understanding.

“Yes Mrs. Hudson.” John nodded in confirmation.

“Oh dear. Do you know who did it? Oh, I bet that’s what Sherlock and the Sergeant are investigating?”

“Yes, they think they have someone too. Now, please, Mrs. Hudson. I really do need to be with Lestrade right now.”

“Yes, of course dear. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” She turned and hurried back down the stairs.

John re-joined Lestrade on the sofa in the sitting room. His tea was about half gone, but he still had tears in his eyes and was shaking. John put his arm back around Lestrade’s shoulder. The inspector turned towards John, buried his face in the doctor’s chest. John moved Lestrade’s mug to the table to keep it from spilling, started stroking the hair on the back of Lestrade’s head.

“It’s alright, Greg,” John whispered. “You’re alright. It’s all over and you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. “

Lestrade was sobbing again. John could feel the older man’s heart pounding against his chest. He mentally scolded himself for leaving the file where Lestrade could see it.

“I’m sorry Greg; I should have put that file somewhere else. I didn’t mean for you to see it.” John apologized softly. The inspector was still shaking. John held him, wrapped in his arms, stroking his hair, trying to calm him.

After about 20 minutes, Lestrade finally calmed enough to stop shaking. He looked up at John, his dark brown eyes red and swollen from crying.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I keep falling apart.” Lestrade shook his head, and let out a deep sigh. “Guess I kind of ruined the evening.”

“Greg, it’s alright. Stop saying you’re sorry. I shouldn’t have left that file out. I wasn’t thinking.” John lightly rubbed Lestrade’s arm. “You didn’t ruin anything. “

They sat and watched television for a while, John not wanting to leave Lestrade alone and wanting to keep him from thinking about the assault anymore. After about an hour, John noticed Lestrade’s head starting drooping from the doctor’s shoulder.

“Okay, come on, let’s get you to bed.” John told him, moving his arm so Lestrade could sit up. When Lestrade tried to stand, John noticed he was moving more stiffly and wincing again. “Are you still hurting?” He asked, putting Lestrade’s arm around his own shoulders and his arm around the inspector’s waist. Lestrade nodded slowly.

John helped him into bed, and gave him a couple more painkillers and muscle relaxers. He sat down on the bed behind the inspector and began massaging his back; soon Lestrade was asleep.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dr. Hawkins showed Sherlock and Donovan a box that contained the belongings Clayton had left behind. They found several Hellblazer comic books in the box along with a notebook quoting several bible verses about demons along with sketches he had drawn of demon’s being destroyed in various manners. Many were similar to the styles the victims had been killed.

“Mr. Clayton was a disturbed young man. He suffered from disorganized Schizophrenia, was subject to delusions, hallucinations, and disorganized thought processes.” Hawkins told them.

“What was the religious link?” Sherlock asked.

“That was never entirely clear. Both his parents were devout Catholics, he grew up in the Catholic Church. His delusions seemed to focus on demons when his illness manifested.”

“Now he sees himself as a demon hunter, going after what he perceives to be demonic entities,” Donovan told him.

“What has he done?” Hawkins asked.

“He has killed 4 children, claiming they were demons that he had to destroy.” Sherlock told him flatly. “Why was he allowed to leave?” he asked.

“It wasn’t the hospital’s choice. He was improving, responding to treatment. He went on a day trip with some other patients to the British Museum, he wandered off at some point, we couldn’t locate him.” The doctor explained.

“Why wasn’t a police report filed?” Donovan asked.

“You have to understand, Mr. Clayton was a special case. Because of his previous crime, his presence was kept quiet. We were told from the start not to involve the police in any matter regarding Mr. Clayton. Instead we were given a contact number for someone in the Home Office if anything happened. “

“Did you contact Home Office after he escaped?” Donovan prodded.

“We did. We were told someone there would handle it and we were to do nothing. Continue with business as usual. It was just assumed that he been located and placed in a different facility.” Hawkins shrugged.

“He wasn’t.” Sherlock informed him.

After going through the rest of Clayton’s belongings and speaking with the doctor a little longer, Donovan thanked him for his time and they both left.

“Would be interesting to know why Home Office didn’t locate him like they told Dr. Hawkins.” Donovan mused as they were leaving. She looked over at Sherlock, who was speaking into his mobile.

“Thank you, that’s most informative.” Sherlock said into the phone a few minutes later as he rang off. He turned to Donavan,” Apparently Home Office had difficulty locating Clayton as well. They had agents looking for him, but they never found him. Obviously it didn’t occur to any of them that he would be going by a different name.” Sherlock shook his head. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was almost 6:30; they needed to get to the church.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was on his mobile for most of the trip to the church. They arrived shortly before services began. Clayton was easy to spot in the crowd. He was in the last pew, as the priest had said he would. They approached slowly, not wanting to startle him. Both sat on either side of him in the pew.

“Need you to come with us, Mr. Clayton,” Donovan muttered to him, not wanting to disturb the service. Clayton looked at her with surprise.

“No, my name’s not Clayton. I’m John Constantine. I have a duty, I must stay here.” He insisted, shaking his head. “I have to destroy the demons.”

“You have destroyed enough demons. It’s time to come with us,” Donovan told him tersely.

With that, Clayton shot out of the pew, towards the rear exit of the church. Sherlock and Donovan were right behind him. They chased after him, going outside the church, down a long alley. Donovan reached out, grabbed Clayton by the wrist, both going down as she did. Clayton tried to get up, but Sherlock was in front of him, gun pointed directly at Clayton’s head.

“I should put a bullet in your skull right now, not only because of what you did to those children, but to Lestrade as well.” Sherlock said quietly.

“I was protecting him.” Clayton claimed.

“How is raping someone protecting them?” Donovan asked, tightening her grip on Clayton’s wrists.

“I put myself inside him, the demons cannot hurt him.” Clayton claimed.

Donovan and Sherlock exchanged a look, and Donovan cuffed Clayton, and hauled him to his feet. Was going to call for back-up, Sherlock stopped her. At that point a sleek black car pulled up, 2 men in suits climbed out.

“This the man Mr. Holmes?” One of them asked. Sherlock nodded. The 2 men took Clayton, put him in the back of the car, before driving away. Donovan looked at Sherlock quizzically.

“Mycroft,” He shrugged. Donovan started giggling. She couldn’t help it. They had got the guy, it was over. She was flooded with the sense of relief that always came when she closed a case, even if this one was a little unconventional. She realized she and Sherlock were alone in the alley. She turned towards him, tilting her face up to his. She felt his warm breath as their lips met, parted, his tongue exploring hers. She felt his hand under her chin, gently lifting it up, fingers of his other hand tangled in her dark curly hair, melting into her. She never thought he could be capable of such passion, such tenderness. She finally pulled away, her cheeks were flushed.

“We should get going.” She said.

“Right. Need to get back. Check on Lestrade,” Sherlock said, almost automatically.

They turned to leave to find a cab, Donovan stumbled, Sherlock caught her under the arm, guided her out of the alley.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lestrade had been asleep for a while when Donovan and Sherlock returned. They both went directly into the bedroom, Donovan leaned next to the bed, traced Lestrade’s eyebrow with her finger.

“We got him, boss, we got him. It’s over.” She whispered. She reached down and picked up her sleeping DI’s hand, gave it a gentle squeeze.

“So you got the guy?” John asked when they entered the sitting room.

Sherlock nodded. “It was simple really. Donovan helped.” She gave him a look, he just grinned.

“I need to get going; been a long day.” Donovan said heading for the door. Sherlock followed her to the door.

“You should stop by tomorrow, we can wrap up the case.” He told her slyly.

“I’ll do that.” She said, walking out the door.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next day, the papers reported that the killer had been caught and had given a full confession. They said he had been placed in a secured mental facility but the name and location of the facility and the killer’s identity were being withheld for his protection. No mention was ever made of the assault on Lestrade.

The inspector stayed at Baker St. for a couple weeks, having told the Met he was attending a family emergency. Sally came by every day after leaving the Met, going over cases with Lestrade and Sherlock. They learned that she was a fantastic cook, and made dinner for them almost every night.

She and Sherlock talked about what happened in the alley a few days later. They both agreed that, even though they both enjoyed it, it would be better if nothing came of it.

Lestrade’s panic attacks lessened, the nightmares were still pretty regular though. The first night back in his own flat was rough. John and Donovan had wanted one of them to stay with him, at least for a couple days. He had argued that he would have to get used to being alone at some point. Eventually they gave in, but only if he agreed that one of them stop by first thing in the morning.

When he first arrived in his flat, he was alright, noticing that someone had gone through the files he had on his coffee table, all had notes sticking out of them telling him he was wrong and who did it. Lestrade just shook his head and laughed, putting them back in a pile on the table, he’d go through them later.

It wasn’t until that night when he went to bed, he had problems. Laying in the dark by himself, every noise made him jump, every shadow a prospective attacker. John had sent some sleeping pills home with him; he decided to take one so he could get some sleep.

He woke a couple hours later, his heart racing, sweat covering his body. He had been dreaming of the attack again, being in the warehouse, with that man behind him, inside him. He closed his eyes, tried to go back to sleep, convince himself it was only a dream, but he couldn’t. He kept seeing Clayton leering at him, holding the knife, getting inside him.

“You know, a nightmare is simply an unpleasant response to stress.” A deep baritone said from the darkness.

“Dammit Sherlock! How did you get in here?” Lestrade almost fell off the bed.

“I made a copy of your key while you were staying at Baker St. Thought it would be good to have. Besides, John told you one of us would be stopping by to look in on you.”

“In the morning Sherlock; not the middle of the night.”

“It is morning.” Sherlock said dryly.

“ _Later_ in the morning,” Lestrade corrected. “I need to get some sleep Sherlock. Do you mind?”

“Not at all, but you’re not doing a lot of sleeping.” Sherlock pointed out. He walked over to the bed and sat down.

“Just let me sleep Sherlock.” Lestrade begged, he turned over so his back was to the detective. He suddenly felt a hand on his back, gently massaging it. “What are you doing?” He mumbled into the pillow.

“Rubbing your back; it’s what John did when you had trouble sleeping.”

Lestrade wanted to argue, but found he couldn’t. It felt so good, and before long he was asleep again.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lestrade returned to work the next day. Everything was ok for the first week. No one at the Yard knew what happened except Donavan, and she never told anyone.

He was in the parking garage, heading towards his car about a week later, when he was hit with another panic attack. He was suddenly overwhelmed with memories of what had happened. Donovan found him, on the floor of the parking garage, with his back against his car, his knees pulled to his chest. He was shaking and had tears streaming from his eyes. Donovan noticed a puddle of vomit next to him. She sat next to him; put her arms around him to calm him.

“It’s alright sir. Just take a deep breath, you’ll be alright,” She whispered. She sat with him for several minutes, massaging his shoulder and whispering reassurances to him.

“Do you want me to call John?” She asked finally. He shook his head. “Ok, well at least let me take you home,” she extended her hand to help him stand up, carefully avoiding the vomit that was next to him. She guided him into the car and drove him to his flat.

Donovan wrapped her arms around him and helped him up the stairs into his own flat, gently lowering him to the sofa. He laid down and curled his legs under himself.

Sally disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a glass of water in her hand.

“Here sir, drink this. It’s just water,” She helped him sit up enough to drink it.

He laid back down, she found a blanket and covered him.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” She asked, sitting on the coffee table next to him. Lestrade shook his head. “Okay, you don’t have to. I’m going to stay with you though, okay?” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

After a while he fell asleep, Donovan stood, pulling the blanket under his chin as she did. She sent a text to John, letting him know of Lestrade’s latest panic attack and that she was looking after him. After she text John, she sat back down next to Lestrade, taking his hand as he slept.

He woke a couple hours later; Donovan made dinner for him, insisting that he eat. Afterward, she helped him to bed; she stayed overnight, sleeping on his sofa.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next panic attack was worse. They were at a crime scene; male victim had been raped and strangled. Sherlock was busy examining the body when he noticed Lestrade and John were gone. He went outside, found them in an alley behind the victim’s house. Lestrade was on his hands and knees, having apparently just thrown up, John was kneeling next to him, rubbing his back. He looked up when Sherlock entered the alley.

“We need to get him out of here,” John told him, helping Lestrade sit against the brick wall behind him.

Sherlock nodded, went to find Donavan. She was entering the alley, having noticed they were no longer inside.

“Lestrade’s had another panic attack,” Sherlock told her. “John thinks we need to get him away from here.”

“Okay,” She nodded. “You and John take him, I’ll stay here, get another DI to cover, then meet you when I’m finished. Are you going to Baker St?” She asked.

“Would be best; John can look after him better there.”

She turned, went back inside, Sherlock went back to John and Lestrade. The inspector was sitting against the wall, his knees pulled to his chest, he was sweating and breathing rapidly, there were traces of vomit around the corners of his mouth. Together, he and John pulled Lestrade to his feet, and got him into a cab, Lestrade between the two of them, with his head resting on John’s chest.

They slowly made their way into their flat and got him settled on the sofa, Sherlock got him a glass of water while John got a damp cloth to clean the vomit from the inspector’s mouth. Mrs. Hudson saw them bring Lestrade in; she brought up a pot of tea a few minutes later. John pressed the steaming mug into Lestrade’s hand, encouraging him to drink.

Donovan arrived about an hour later. When she got there, Lestrade was lying on the sofa, had his legs curled under himself and his head on a pillow in John’s lap. Sherlock was in the kitchen, looking at something under a microscope.

Lestrade started to get up when he saw Donovan; John placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“It’s okay, sir. Dimmock is taking over the crime scene.” She said sitting down next to him.

“It was assigned to me though. I have to investigate it or the DCI’s going get after me,” Lestrade protested.

“It’s alright. Told them you had an emergency and had to leave to attend to it.” Donovan told him gently.

She got up and went into the kitchen to see what Sherlock was doing.

“That better not be from the crime scene,” She said when she entered.

“That depends on which crime scene you’re referring to.” He said without looking up. “Tell Dimmock not to bother with boyfriend, the neighbor from 2 doors down did it. Jealous rage I would imagine.”

“How do you-? Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” She shook her head.

She returned to the sitting room with John and Lestrade, sitting on the floor in front of them, holding Lestrade’s hand against her shoulder. They watched television for a couple hours, Lestrade finally relaxing more and more as the evening drew on. Both Donovan and Lestrade stayed at Baker St. for the night.

Lestrade went back to his own flat the next night. He was still having nightmares, however, whenever he woke from one, there was always someone there, gently soothing him back to sleep. He didn’t have any more panic attacks for a while after the last one at the crime scene. His friends were always close though, in case it did happen.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock was returning from Bart’s about 2 weeks after Lestrade’s last panic attack when he found Mycroft waiting for him, tapping his ever-present umbrella against floor.

“I’m assuming there is a reason for your visit?” Sherlock asked when he entered.

“I’m here about the man that attacked Inspector Lestrade. “ Mycroft told him passively. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. “He has been taken out of the country, to a facility in Switzerland. It’s one of the best and most secure in all of Europe. He won’t be able to hurt anyone else for a very long time.”

“Does Lestrade know?” Sherlock enquired.

“Not yet. I didn’t feel it wise to divulge the location of his assailant just yet. As I understand, he’s had a number of panic attacks; didn’t want to incite another one.” Mycroft explained.

“Lestrade hasn’t had a panic attack in 2 weeks. I doubt knowing the man who raped him is now in a different country would cause another one,” Sherlock countered.

“People respond differently to stress, Sherlock. You never know what news like this will cause. Just being reminded of the attack may be enough to cause another one.” Mycroft shrugged. “I’ll let you decide whether to inform the inspector of Mr. Clayton’s whereabouts.”

With that, he stood and headed for the door. “Oh, and Sherlock, if you do decide to tell him, you may want to make sure Dr. Watson is present.” He turned and walked out the door, leaving Sherlock in the middle of room.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Have you received the results of your blood test?” Sherlock asked Lestrade.

They were both in the sitting room at Baker St. Lestrade had come by with information about another case they were working.

“Yes. Molly contacted me day before yesterday. All results are negative.” Lestrade informed him.

“That’s good to hear. You are probably quite relieved by that.”

“Of course I am; would like to put this whole bloody thing behind me.” Sherlock noticed sweat was starting to form on Lestrade’s brow when he began talking about the assault.

“I’m sure you are,” Sherlock agreed. ”I’ve received some information regarding your assailant,” Sherlock added.

“What’s that?” Lestrade was trying to appear only mildly interested but he the sweat on his brow was more evident and he was beginning to lose his color.

“It appears he has been moved out of the country to a facility in Switzerland. I’m told that it is one of the most secure facilities in Europe. “Sherlock told him. “So that’s it. It’s over; Mr. Clayton can’t hurt you or anyone else again.”

Lestrade nodded.

“Well that’s good then. That’s go-“The inspector’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, Sherlock caught him just before he hit the floor. He pulled the detective over to the sofa, gently laying him down.

Lestrade came to a few minutes later. He let out a moan, opening his eyes he blinked several times before finally focusing on Sherlock. The detective was seated on the coffee table, his chin resting on his hands and was studying Lestrade.

Lestrade sat up, started to say something, but was suddenly overcome with images from the warehouse, of Clayton, the knife, the feeling of Clayton inside him. He hadn’t had an attack in over 2 weeks, why was he having one now? Sherlock had just said Clayton was out of the country, he couldn’t do anything, so why was it happening again?

Sherlock noticed Lestrade was beginning to have trouble breathing, his eyes going wide with terror, all color gone from his face. The inspector was having a panic attack. Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do, Mycroft apparently had been right, he should have waited for John before telling Lestrade about Clayton.

“It’s okay, Lestrade. Just breathe,” Sherlock put a hesitant hand on Lestrade’s shoulder. He could feel the inspector shaking and knew he needed to calm him. He checked the inspector’s pulse, it was racing. “It’s alright. You are safe now,” Sherlock told him; he didn’t think he sounded very reassuring. John was much better at this than he was.

Sherlock got behind the older man, pushing him forward enough that he could sit behind him. He began rubbing Lestrade’s back, just as John had whenever he had an attack. To Sherlock’s surprise it seemed to help. Lestrade’s breathing was less labored; he didn’t seem to be shaking as bad. Sherlock wrapped his hand around Lestrade’s wrist, his pulse was beginning to slow as well. Sherlock stood, went into the kitchen, he came back a few minutes later with a glass of water that he handed to the inspector.

“I didn’t realize you would have this reaction to the news about Clayton. I guess I should have waited for John to come home,” Sherlock told him quietly. “Does that help?” He asked hesitantly, indicating the water. Lestrade nodded slowly, he had tears in the corners of his eyes. Sherlock sat back down behind him and resumed rubbing his back.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John was met with surprise when he came home from the surgery a couple hours later. When he entered the flat, he found Sherlock sitting on the sofa reading a book, a sleeping Lestrade’s head resting on his chest, the detective absently stroking the skin behind Lestrade’s ear.

“He had another attack when I informed him of Clayton’s new location, this was the only way to keep him calm,” Sherlock shrugged.

“So Clayton is gone then?” John sounded uncertain.

“Been relocated to a secure facility in Switzerland; He’ll never hurt anyone else again.”

John breathed a sigh of relief. With Clayton out of the country in a secure mental facility, it was finally over.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Molly Hooper concluded her last autopsy for that day. Homeless man, found in an alley; she ruled it natural death due to heart failure, signed off on the report. No mention of the microscopic needle mark in his arm.

 

 

 

               

               

 

               

               

 

 

 

               

 

               

               

               

               

 

               

  
               

 

              

 

 

               

 

 

 


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